|
Waves of shivers passed rhythmically through the heavy muscles of the ugly dog's body. Each shudder was accompanied by a guttural whine, and he panted whenever he wasn't either quivering or whining. Now and then he seemed compelled to get up and nervously pace the blackened concrete, turning tight circles, always looking up. Once or twice he reared his massive upper body to stand awkwardly on his splayed hind feet, pawing vainly in the air, still straining up. Daybreak had been illuminating the dirty windows for quite some time now, and the dog suddenly cocked his head towards the heavy metal doors. His long tail began to beat a tattoo on the garage floor, and he visibly brightened, hearing well-known sounds -- help was coming. When the small wood door beside the huge metal ones swung open, revealing the first of the crew to arrive and open the place for business, the dog launched himself at the familiar figure, nearly upending the man, then rushed back to the spot in the middle of the floor where he had kept his night-long vigil. Once the man regained his balance after the exuberance of the overwrought animal's greeting, he shut the door and for the first time looked into the shop, his eyes widening in horror as they traveled up to the I-beam above the dog who again was circling frantically, making anxious feints back to the man at the door, then once more to the center of the big cluttered garage floor, whining in a desperate plea for the man to do something. The man froze momentarily, both hands clamped over his gaping mouth, then whirled back out the door, vomiting in the alley. He wiped his eyes and mouth with a threadbare bandanna handkerchief from the rear pocket of his coveralls, and then sidled back into the shop, never looking there again, to put in a garbled call to the police before suddenly pitching over onto the hard floor in a heap and a dead faint. Seven minutes later when the first of the four police cars came to a sliding stop outside the rear door of the shop of Manny Feldman, Auto Mechanic, all the officers could do was peer through the windows. The dog didn't know them, and his job was to keep strangers from entering, no matter what. He took his duties seriously, particularly under the circumstances that had him so distressed.. One of the officers suggested they shoot the dog, the other said with gruff admiration, "You'd have to shoot me first, Gerry," and he radioed for the Animal Control car. |